Three Years Later

As promised,my posts have been few and far between.
What can I say? I found myself in a pensive type of mood. The baby I lost would have been celebrating a birthday right about now. Number three to be exact. Which begs the question, what would we have done? My guess is something involving either a Transformer or a Princess theme. There would have been cake and ice cream, presents, and laughter. As it stands, I did do all that today! Today was my little sisters' birthday. She turned three. Yes, three. (We will not discuss the age difference!)

In one of the those cosmic twist of fate, I indeed had the birthday party I should of had. A lovely one, held at the pool in the company of her family and friends. A birthday for her, just as it should have been.

I don't think about the lost baby as much any more, only about every day. As such I haven't cried and doubt I will anytime soon. Don't get me wrong, I choke up when I think of it, but then the moment quickly passes. Which, when I think of it makes me feel callous and heartless, until I realize that this how God designed the human mind. We love, we lose, we grieve, we heal, we move on. Because as the world continues to turn, one day will always fade into the next, and into the next, and into the next. Much like our memories.

I am so glad for the opportunity that this blog has presented me. So many of the memories, althought not all of them, that I thought I would remember forever with such idealic clarity, huh, well, they're just about as clear as mud. Time, what a funny thing.

The first several days are very clear. I guess it's like when you're trying to memorize a speech, you get the first paragraph down pat. When you move on to the second, you begin with the first and continue on. Same with the third, until that first paragraph is so firmly fixed in your mind, it's not coming out. That's pretty much what I'm getting at.

I cannot recall the physical pain I felt when I learned my third child just weeks into it's embryonic life and why would I? That was enough of a soul crusher to last me my entire life, thank you very much, no repeats are necessary. And while I can probably script some of the conversations word for word, I don't know why I would. At the end of the day my life had been changed forever. Same goes for the day when I was told my pregnancy wasn't exactly normal. That had to have been the understatement of the century.

I cannot recall the weeks between those blood draws when we were playing the waiting game. Waiting to hear the phone ring, waiting to hear if the levels were up or down. But now, as I'm thinking about it, my stomach is churning with anxiety. And I'm not sure how I managed to keep from pulling my hair out.

There's the first visit to the oncologist office. There's nothing much to say on that, except looking back, I went in cool and confident knowing I had done as much research as I could. I was ready to "talk shop" and resolve the issue and knowing without a doubt that God was going to take care of me. A feeling a had though the entire process and doubted only for the merest of seconds before my common sense kicked back in.

The various trips in for medicine. There was only a handful, a lone shot here and there, a single IV treatment.

The call, between the doctor and myself, when it was determined I would need a hysterectomy to beat the cancer. Not as dramatic as you would think. This goes back to being prepared, to being realistic, and being confident in God.

Then there's the hemmoraging. Pretty sure this mememories going to be there awhile, as will the day of the surgery. It was around four that morning when they were wheeling me into Prep when all of my commonsense fled. I don't really remember what I was thinking or feeling clearly. In fact it's a total blur. I know I was crying and couldn't stop until the nurses gave me somethig for it. Looking back, I guess what I was feeling was a sort of grief for my uterus. Laugh if you like, but it's true. So much of that organ comprised what it was that made me.... I could say me, a person would wanted to be a mother again, or I could say a woman. I know how silly that sounds, but in a way it's true.

God never blessed me with ample front clevage, the rear, well, it would have been nice if both sides evened out. So I really connected my feminity with my uterus. I may resemble a prepubesent teen, but honey, I could pop out beautiful babies. Hence, the totally unfounded and crazy grief I was feeling. I knew and still know that any female can be a mother, but it takes someone special to be a mom and that just because that part of me was gone didn't mean it stopped the loving feelings of heart. It only resulted in temporary brain loss!

The physical pain of the surgery is barley a blip on my Memory Lane radar, the scar, although noticeable to me, is pretty well faded.

The call I received letting me know my levels had bottomed out, was one of the greatest moments of my life and the highlight of the whole ordeal is in need of a trophy. And coming in second place, the last visit to my doctors office. More than a blip because he'd changed offices and it was a chore to find.

Hmmm, guess my memories clearer than I thought. Thanks Memory Lane. Point is, time allows us to put our memories in perspective. The shock, the hurt,and the grief eventually fades as does the happy, the exuberance, and the thrill. I'd compare our brain to the refresh button. There's only so much data it can handle before it has to clear out and start over. Just think how sad our lives would be if we continued to wallow in our hurt like pigs in mud.

We're human. God gave us life. What we do it, well, that's up to us.

Personally I chose to be happy. There is nothing that is going to bring my baby back. No amount of tears, or screaming will change that. I accept it and move on, remembering that God gave me two wonderful children who daily irritate the living snot out of me and make me glad I'm their mom. A husband who is my rock. Parents I adore, a nephew who is cutest thing, and sisters. Both of whom I love and would die to save.

And at the end of the day, that's what makes living my life worth it.